Brighter Than the Sun, page 23
Papi nods slowly to himself. He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue.
I keep eating, dipping my fries in ketchup. The truth is, I’m not convinced either, but it’s too late to back out now. The only thing left to do is hope that I’ll be able to make a difference tomorrow, and that it won’t all be for nothing.
From the moment I get to school the next day, Bruno’s name is all I can hear.
“—two o’clock, but I heard everyone is—”
“Bruno le dijo que—”
“—pero don’t worry, las pancartas van a estar listas—”
“I know! Yo tampoco creo que Bruno—”
Bruno himself is nowhere to be seen. I wonder how he’s feeling, which side of him is winning—the helpless side I saw on the bridge earlier in the week, or the hopeful one I saw a glimpse of two days ago, the one who thinks he might just have a chance.
As I make my way through the hallways, the stares follow me more than ever before. I suppose it doesn’t help that I’m wearing a flowery dress, which seems to be attracting much more attention than my usual jeans and t-shirt would. I wanted to look as formal as possible for the hearing, and after trying on a couple of Abuela’s ugly blazers, I realized that one of my mom’s old Sunday dresses would be my best bet.
The instant I walk into the cafeteria at lunchtime, I stop in my tracks. I have never seen it so packed. Half of all the kids in here must be skipping class, because every single table is full, even though not everyone seems to be eating. There are people moving all over the place, speaking loudly, passing markers around, and drawing on big, bright posters.
BRUNO BELONGS HERE, says one of the signs that’s lying on a table close to me.
“Hey,” says Camila when she sees me. “Here’s a marker, and there are posters over there.”
The energy at school continues to rise all throughout the day, and the light in the hallways seems to continuously change—at times it’s dark and grim, as though someone has dimmed the lamps, and at times so bright that it’s blinding. And as the buzzing of voices becomes louder and louder, I realize it’s not only the people who support Bruno who are speaking up.
“The hearing’s probably gonna last less than ten minutes,” I hear a kid say spitefully as I pack up my things after history class. “The board’s already made up their minds.”
By the time the final period bell comes, a dead silence falls all around school. After a full day of loud voices and even louder opinions, it’s as if everyone has finally accepted the fact that there is nothing left to do but wait.
Instead of going to my final class of the day, I head toward the school doors, where Bruno is waiting for me so we can head over to the school board building.
“Are you ready?” he asks me. He’s wearing a suit, his hair is gelled to one side, and he looks every bit as nervous as I feel.
“Yeah,” I answer, even though I don’t feel ready at all. “Are you?”
He shrugs in response, which tells me everything I need to know.
My shoes echo loudly against the hardwood floors when I walk into the conference room where the hearing is happening. I’ve been standing right outside the doors for over an hour, so my legs are starting to feel a bit numb, but I manage to put one foot in front of the other and sit down at a long table, right across from the members of the school board.
There are five of them—three women and two men. When I looked them up online earlier this week, they were all smiling in the photos that were posted on the school district website. Today, they all look serious, with their hands folded neatly over the table and their lips pressed into straight lines.
“Tell us,” says one of them—a woman with long, curly hair that I recognize as Sally Rivera, the president of the board. “How well do you know Bruno Rodríguez?”
There’s a bottle of water on the table right in front of me, but I don’t reach for it, despite how dry my throat feels. Instead, I swallow hard and say, “Pretty well, I guess.”
“Would you describe him as your good friend?”
“Sure. I—I mean, I’ve known him for two years.”
“Do you spend much time with him at school?”
“Not at school, no. He’s a senior and I’m a junior, so we’re not in any of the same classes, but we sometimes hang out outside of school.”
“My understanding is that you two sometimes commute together, is that right?”
I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. Suddenly, I feel that urge again—the urge to reach for the bottle of water, to drink a few sips. I wish I could lift an arm, pick it up, and unscrew the cap, but my hands remain frozen in my lap as the five board members stare fixedly at me.
“We’re not here to talk about where you live or don’t live,” Mrs. Rivera says, staring into my eyes. “We’re only here to talk about Bruno, okay?”
I let my breath out in a long, trembling sigh. “Okay,” I answer. I clear my throat, and try to answer the question again. “Yeah—we commute to school together sometimes.”
“And in the time that you’ve spent with Bruno, have you ever perceived him to be aggressive? Or a threat to you or other people in any way?”
“No,” I answer, shaking my head firmly. “Never.”
One of the board members—a man wearing glasses who’s sitting in the far corner—is typing furiously into a laptop, surely writing down every word we’re saying. The tap, tap, tap of his keyboard is ringing in my ears, but I try my best to keep my attention focused on Mrs. Rivera.
“Can you tell us about what happened that day in the cafeteria? The day Bruno got into a fight with another student?” she asks.
“Bruno and Jack started arguing,” I say. “Jack said that—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” says a woman with blond hair who’s sitting right next to Mrs. Rivera. Jessica Martin, I’m pretty sure her name is. “But could you start from the very beginning? What were you doing before the conflict started?”
I nod, clearing my throat again. And then I tell them everything—how I was standing in line for food, and Bruno came up behind me. How he and I were talking, not paying much attention to what was going on around us, and how Jack complained that the line wasn’t moving.
“He pushed his way past me, and he almost knocked over my tray. That was when Bruno spoke up. He—he said to Jack that he couldn’t just do that, that he couldn’t skip past us. Only he said it in Spanish, and that’s when Jack… started saying things.”
Mrs. Rivera frowns slightly, so that her eyebrows come closer together. “What exactly did he say?”
“That Bruno shouldn’t be speaking Spanish. That we weren’t in Mexico. It wasn’t anything I haven’t heard before, but… it seemed to get to Bruno.”
“How did the situation escalate? When did it become physical?”
I blink slowly, trying my best to remember. “I—I think Bruno stepped forward, toward Jack. And then…” I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to fill in the gaps where my memory fails me, but I can’t seem to remember exactly what happened in that moment.
It comes to me in slow motion—the image of Bruno, Jack, and me standing by the cashier line. I can almost feel the weight of a food tray in my hands, can feel the tension rising, can see the hurt look on Bruno’s face.
“Jack pushed Bruno,” I say. “Bruno pushed him back, and that’s when it happened—when they started fighting.”
Mrs. Rivera nods slowly, and she’s not the only one. Miss Martin raises her eyebrows, nodding as well, and the man who’s typing away shakes his head slightly.
“I can’t make this into anything other than what it was,” I say. “The two of them did get into a fight, and Bruno did punch Jack. But… but it was Jack who threw the first punch.”
I watch Mrs. Rivera’s reaction closely. I can tell this is not the first time she’s heard this, but she still narrows her eyes at me.
“Are you completely sure of that?” she asks.
“A hundred percent,” I say. “They were struggling on the ground, and Jack hit Bruno on the side of the head. That was when people started pulling out their cell phones and recording, but… the videos only show half of it. It was Jack who started the whole thing. He’s the one who seemed to have a problem with us just because we were speaking in Spanish—he’s the one who tried to get under Bruno’s skin.”
There’s a moment of silence—a moment during which the tapping of the keyboard is all I can hear.
“And now, it’s Jack who’s determined to prove to Bruno that he doesn’t belong here—that he doesn’t deserve to finish high school, and do something with his future.”
“María de la Soledad, perhaps we should—”
“I just… I don’t think many people understand what it means for some of us to be able to come to school at Orangeville. I mean… we all go to the same classes, and turn in the same assignments, and eat in the same cafeteria next to each other every day. We’re all technically running in the same race, but some of us started ten feet behind. And… sometimes it’s hard to understand how we’re meant to get to the finish line. How we’re supposed to do impossible things if obstacles keep being thrown at us even when we try to catch up with everyone else.”
I’m not sure where these words are coming from, but I do know one thing. All the fears I thought I would feel in this exact moment are completely gone. After being so uncertain, so anxious about talking in front of the school board, it has turned out to be shockingly easy to show up today, to use my voice, to step into the shoes of Sol.
It’s all much simpler than I used to think—finding the strength that is buried deep within me, and doing things that once seemed impossible, and becoming the person I’ve always been meant to be. And now that I’ve realized this, I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to being Soledad. Not entirely, at least.
I wait with my hands firmly set over my lap, holding my breath as Mrs. Rivera blinks slowly. I wonder what’s going through her mind—if I’ve managed to convince her that Bruno deserves a chance, if this will make any difference in the board’s decision whether to expel him.
I’m almost sure that we’re not done yet, that they’re all gonna launch into a million other questions about Bruno, and Jack, and that day in the cafeteria. But then, as quickly and suddenly as she asked her first question, Mrs. Rivera gives me a vague smile.
“Thank you, María de la Soledad,” she says. “That’ll be all.”
The crowd waiting outside the building is much smaller than I thought it would be. For all the talk about Bruno earlier today, and all the people helping out with the signs in the cafeteria, the protest looks a lot smaller out here. Twenty or thirty people, maybe, most of whom are starting to look exhausted from standing here for too long.
“Well?” Irwin asks me as I walk down the front steps of the building. “How did it go?”
The entire crowd shuffles as some people lean forward, trying to listen in on what I’m about to say.
“I’m not sure,” I answer.
Irwin’s expression falls. I wish I could tell him that it went well. I wish I could give him something more than this, but I don’t have the ability to comfort him right now—not when my heart is beating fast against my chest, reminding me that the board’s decision will come sooner rather than later, and we’re all gonna have to deal with it once it does.
I turn toward the crowd instead, scanning one face after another. I recognize most of these people from Orangeville, but there are a few that I’m sure go to a different school. And then, when I find Ari’s gaze staring back at me, my heart stops beating altogether.
Irwin asks me something else, but I don’t even hear what it is. I step forward to make my way through the crowd, and when I reach the spot where Ari is standing, I fall straight into her arms.
“Sol,” she says. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know, Ari,” I say into her ear. “I just hope I did everything I could’ve done to help him.”
“You did,” Ari says. “I know you did.”
When I pull away from her, I realize that everyone else is standing right beside us—Camila, Olivia, Ana María, Tony, Simon. They’re all carrying signs, but no one is lifting them up anymore. Camila’s is starting to look a bit worn around the edges, and Tony has rolled up his and is carrying it under his arm.
“How long have you all been out here?” I ask.
“Since the last bell of the day rang, so… definitely more than an hour,” Olivia answers. “A big group of us walked over from school.”
“Is Bruno still in there?” Simon asks me, nodding toward the building.
“Yeah. I saw him just now, when I walked out of the conference room.”
“And the people from the board? What were they like?”
“They were… serious,” I answer. “I couldn’t really tell whose side they were on.”
“Do you think they’ll make a decision today?”
“I don’t know. I hope they will,” I say, thinking about Bruno. Thinking about how agonizing the wait must be for him, how badly he must be wishing for closure on this whole thing, regardless of what the board decides in the end.
I’m not sure how long we stand here, staring at the front doors of the building. Whispers travel from one side of the crowd to the other, and a few people come and go, yet the doors remain still.
“That doesn’t look too good,” Camila says suddenly, pointing toward the sky. There are dark clouds forming in the distance, and they seem to be rolling in our direction.
“What should we do?” Ana María asks from behind me. “Is there any point in waiting out here?”
“I don’t know,” Tony whispers back. “The school board might not even—”
He chokes on his own words, because right at that moment, the doors of the building open.
Everyone seems to go silent at the same time. We stop whispering, stop moving, stop breathing. It’s as if even the wind has stopped blowing and the seconds have stopped passing as we all turn to face the front.
Bruno walks out of the building and blinks repeatedly, as though he’s been blinded by the light. For a moment, he looks shocked, as he stares out at all the people who are gathered here for him, but then he turns toward Irwin.
“Well?” Irwin asks.
Bruno nods, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile, and the entire crowd bursts into cheers.
I try to make eye contact with him, wanting to get confirmation that his nod really did mean what I think it did—that he’s gonna be able to stay, that the school board voted in his favor—but I can’t even find his face in the crowd as everyone hugs, and smiles, and lets out sighs of relief.
The dark clouds close in on us and big drops of rain start falling from the sky, but no one seems to care. All that really, truly matters is the energy in this little corner of the parking lot, the sound of the loud voices all around me, the pure relief swelling inside my chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE DARK CLOUDS LINGER FOR A WHILE. THE RAIN IS at times stronger, at times lighter, but even while I stare out the window of the trolley on my way home, there are raindrops sliding down the glass, making everything outside look hazy and blurry.
When I walk into my house, it’s completely silent. There’s no buzzing of the refrigerator, no sound of voices, no sign of anyone here.
“Hello?” I call out, but there’s no reply.
With every step I take deeper into the house, my heart seems to fall lower and lower. During the whole ride to the border, I kept thinking about getting home and telling my family about what happened at the hearing. I’ve been wanting to share the good news with them, but now all I can think about is the eerie silence that surrounds me.
I pull out my phone, thinking about calling my dad, when all of a sudden I start to make out a noise—the hush of whispered voices.
I tiptoe my way toward it, and it leads me all the way to Luis and Diego’s bedroom. As I lean closer to the door, the voices become clearer.
“—wait until she gets here.”
“Maybe we should go now.”
“We might not even need to go. I think he’s just sleeping.”
I push the door open to find an odd scene in front of me. Diego is lying on his bed, looking fast asleep. There’s a big bruise on his face, a bump on his forehead, and his hands are gently folded on top of his stomach, while Papi, Luis, and Abuela stand over his bed.
My dad is the first to notice me standing at the doorway.
“Sol,” he says. “We were wondering when you’d be home.”
“What happened?” I ask, my heart rate speeding up.
“He got into trouble again at school,” Luis says. “Some kid pushed him, and he fell and hit his head.”
“Is he okay? How did—”
“We think he’s okay,” Papi answers.
“He didn’t give us many details,” Abuela whispers from the corner where she’s standing. “But your dad and I talked to one of the teachers when we went to pick him up, and she said Diego’s been struggling with bullies lately.”
“Well, what do we do?” I ask, taking a step closer to Diego’s bed. “Does he need to see a doctor? Do we need to—”
“That’s what we were talking about just now,” Papi answers. “He kept insisting he was fine. We helped him get into bed, and now he’s been sleeping for a while.”
“I read online that it’s not a good thing, though,” Luis adds quickly. “It says you shouldn’t sleep after a head injury.”
Abuela nods. “Maybe we should try to wake him up.”
“We shouldn’t bother him,” Papi whispers. “Let’s let him sleep, and we’ll see what he says when he wakes up.”
I fall silent, my mind racing. I’m not sure who to side with, or what the right thing is to do. Maybe Abuela is right—we should try to wake him, and make sure he’s feeling okay. Then again, if Papi is right, and he’s only tired, then we should let him rest. He’s had a hard enough day.
